Tilly and the Crazy Eights

by Monique Gray Smith

  Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How was it that her sister had gone through all of this and she hadn’t known?

  “I was on medical leave from work for almost a year, diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. On her days off, Liz would take me to the lake and we’d spend all day there. She’d pack all this healthy food for us and we’d have a picnic. When she was working, she’d leave me cassette tapes of beautiful, uplifting music to listen to on my Walkman. And, she learned how to make me my candied salmon.”

  “Was always your favorite,” Sarah said. “Remember Mom ’n Dad used to hide it from you or you’d have a fish all to yourself.” They both smiled fondly at the memory.

  Anne looked down at her teacup and turned it between her hands. “When I think of all that Liz did for me back then, I think she saved my life.”

  “You’re lucky to have someone love you like that.”

  Anne slowly nodded, thinking of how grateful she was for Liz.

  “What was it like, you know, the counseling thing?”

  “Mmm, at first, I didn’t say anything, just stared off into space, but, after a while, I began talking to the counselor, telling her what had happened. And to my surprise, she believed me.” Anne blew on her tea before taking a long pepperminty sip. “I mean really, Sarah, I was this Indian woman talking about being abused by a priest at a time when Residential schools weren’t really being talked about yet. But, she believed me. Never once questioned me. I think that helped me heal more than anything. Well, that, and forgiveness.”

  Sarah’s eyebrow furrowed and her voice rose just a bit, “Forgiveness?”

  Anne nodded. “After seeing the counselor for a year or so, she brought up the subject of forgiveness. I outright refused.” She smiled at the thought of that session. She’d been so defiant, convinced that she’d never forgive Father Murphy or the nuns. However, over time the counselor helped her understand that it was more painful to live with such hatred and deep, deep sadness than it was to forgive.

  “Trust me. It wasn’t easy. I spent a whole year of my therapy learning to forgive Father Murphy and the nuns.” Anne paused, knowing what she was about to say was not going to sit well with Sarah. “And Mom and Dad.”

  “Mom ’n Dad. Why?”

  Anne looked at her big sister, uncertain how to explain this. “I know it might not make sense, Sarah, but none of what happened makes sense.”

  Anne proceeded cautiously. “I know Mom and Dad didn’t have a choice in sending us to that school. I remember the Indian Agent in the kitchen, telling them that if they didn’t give him us kids that they would arrest Mom and Dad and still take us.”

  Sarah was stunned. “I thought I was the only one who heard that.”

  Anne shook her head no.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to forgive those people, Annie,” Sarah said.

  “I know,” Anne whispered. She ran her thumb over Sarah’s hand. “It’s not that we forget.” Her eyes got a bit bigger and her eyebrows rose. “Trust me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget, but what I learned in counseling is that forgiveness is the only way to be in charge of your own life. Otherwise, we’re still the little children they have control over. And I don’t want that.” Anne squeezed Sarah’s hand. “And I don’t want that for you either.”

  “But I don’t know how to forgive, and now that I know they hurt you, too,” Sarah inhaled sharply and shook her head, “I don’t think I can ever forgive.”

  13

  Those Eyes

  BEA HAD SEEN enough tulips to last her a lifetime and was trying to pass the time by meandering through the gift shop when Chuck called to her. “Hey, Bea. Over here.” She looked in the direction his voice was coming from. He was grinning from ear to ear and began to walk toward her.

  “Look what I found.” He held up a silver necklace with a tulip pendant on it. “I’m buying it for Liv.”

  Bea knew she’d hate it. Liv never wore jewellery and flowers only reminded her of funerals, so it wasn’t likely she’d wear a flower necklace. Bea smirked and replied, “Obviously you don’t know our daughter very well.” Chuck lurched backward.

  As soon as she had said the words, Bea wanted to take them back. She would have given anything to take them back, knowing they’d been like poison to him. His head dropped and he reached over to put the necklace on the shelf beside him.

  “Yeah, you’re right. She wouldn’t like it.” He moved his eyes back to Bea, but she looked away. It had been years since she’d seen that pain in his eyes and yet, it was all too familiar. He turned and began to walk away. “Chuck,” she called to him, but he kept walking. She stood there, infuriated with herself. How was it that she could still be so mean to him? After all, it was at least thirty years since their relationship had ended. Bea was surprised at how deep her hurt still was. The worst of it was that most of the time she wasn’t even aware of it, until she said some jackass thing like she’d just done. She gathered her thoughts while she wandered the aisles of items that tourists would take home to someone they cared about.

  Eventually she summoned enough courage to find Chuck. He was outside, sitting on the fender of the bus, drinking a root beer.

  When he looked up, she motioned her head toward the empty space beside him and raised her eyebrows. Chuck shrugged and took a sip of his pop. Bea didn’t move. He looked at her again and thought, Damn! This woman still gets under my skin. Chuck reached over and wiped off the fender with his hand, looked up at Bea, and tipped his head toward the space he’d just cleaned. Neither of them seemed to notice that they still knew each other well enough to have a whole conversation without saying a word.

  Bea sat down and rested her palms on her knees. She inhaled deeply and looked down at the gravel. “I’m sorry, Chuck. That was mean, what I said back there in the store. And not fair.” She felt his body relax.

  “No, Bea. It was fair.” He looked over at her. “You’re right. I don’t know my children very well.” In a strained voice he continued, “I only have two regrets in life, and that’s one of them. But I’m trying to change that, and I…” he paused to wipe a tear away with the back of his hand, “I could really use your help.”

  She knew how vulnerable he was in this moment and what it was taking him to ask her for help.

  Bea reached into her purse and pulled out a package of tissues. She removed one and placed it in Chuck’s hand, pausing just for a moment to rest her hand on his. The familiarity of moments like this still reminded her of a lifetime ago. Of a time before the drinking, the fights, and subsequent heartbreak. She gave his hand a squeeze and let her hand linger for a moment before removing it and looking away.

  He wiped his cheeks with the tissue. “So, whaddya say, Bea?” He looked over at her. “Will you help me?”

  She looked back at him. Those eyes. She could get lost in those eyes if she wasn’t careful. “Yeah. What the heck? I’ll help you, Chuck.”

  14

  Germophobe

  MABEL GUIDED THE bus off Highway 84 and into a gas station. It had been a full day, and they still had a long stretch of highway before they reached their motel in Pendleton. A break was needed by all. Mabel hopped out and began to fuel up the bus while everyone unloaded.

  Lucy and Rose went to the washrooms and as they stood outside the stalls washing their hands, Lucy pointed to the sign on the wall in front of them. It was of a Sherriff with his finger pointing out at them: “WASH YOUR HANDS OR ELSE!”

  Lucy turned to Rose. “You should have a sign like that in your house, Rose. You know, you’re sorta like the Sherriff.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Means you always worried ’bout germs. Givin’ everyone their own packs of wipes. I bet you have a whole purseful.” Lucy reached over and opened Rose’s purse.

  Rose quickly snatched it closed. “Get out of my purse,
Lucy!”

  “I saw them in there, the red packs of wipes.” Lucy was taunting her friend now. “How many packs you got in there, huh? Five? Six? Ten?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have two. Only because one is almost done.” Rose couldn’t help but blush. “The rest are in my suitcase.”

  “See, that’s what I’m sayin’,” Lucy said as she pointed to the plaque. “If I had a screwdriver with me, I’d unscrew that thing an’ give it to Poncho to hang in your house.”

  The last comment caused Rose’s eyes to narrow and her lips to tighten. “Luuucy.”

  Lucy didn’t give her friend a chance to finish. She reached across her to open the bathroom door. “C’mon. Let’s go see if they have any different kinds of gum here. Best so far was that mint chocolate chip gum I got at the last stop.” Lucy walked past Rose and out the door toward the convenience store.

  Rose stood with her foot holding the door open, seething as she watched her friend walk away. She couldn’t help it if she was a germophobe. That’s what her kids all called her. She never talked to them about Residential school or why she was the way she was.

  More times than Rose cared to remember, the nuns had called her a dirty Indian and made her scrub her hands with bleach and a potato scrubber, often until they were raw and bleeding. Being clean had been drilled into her in that damn school and she’d never been able to undrill it.

  Try as she might.

  15

  Crazy Eights

  ON THEIR WAY back out to the highway, they stopped at a red light. Lucy asked if anyone knew how to play the fire drill game. Tilly smiled with fondness as she remembered this from her high school days, but none of the others seem to know what Lucy was talking about.

  “What’s the fire drill game?” asked Sarah.

  Lucy explained that the next time the bus came to a red light or stop sign, if someone yelled “Fire drill,” then everyone had to get out of the bus, run around it, and get back in, but when they got back in they had to sit in a different seat.

  “Well, that’s just crazy,” said Rose, shaking her head in revulsion. “Not to mention dangerous.”

  “Well, duh, Rose! That’s why it’s so much fun,” Lucy snapped back at her friend.

  Poncho wasn’t fazed by the tension their comments created; he was an expert at navigating their friendship. “What about the driver?” he asked.

  “Drivers have to find a different seat, too,” Lucy said as she turned to Poncho. “When the bus starts going again, it has to be a new driver.”

  “Well I’ll be,” said Poncho, nudging Rose’s arm with mischief in his eyes. She slapped his leg, saying, “Oh, don’t go getting all excited Poncho. It ain’t ever gonna happen.”

  “What? The fire drill or you ’n me?” He put his hand on her knee, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Poncho, stop.” She pushed him away playfully, but secretly she loved it when he teased her.

  They drove for a few minutes and just before merging onto the highway, the bus came to a stop sign. Lucy took this opportunity to yell, “Fire drill!”

  Mabel glanced in the rearview mirror. There were no vehicles behind them, so she shifted the bus into park and looked over at Sarah in the copilot seat. They both giggled as they opened their doors and climbed out. Being slightly competitive, Mabel took off as fast as her little legs could take her around the bus. Meanwhile, Sarah eased herself out, stepping on the sidebar and hanging onto the door as she lowered herself to the ground.

  Poncho opened the main bus door and everyone piled out, except Rose, who sat with her nose in the air in the middle seat. Poncho looked back at her, but she shook her head. He shrugged and manoeuvred himself off the bus one step at a time.

  Fits of laughter erupted as they almost ran into each other trying to get around the bus, some going in opposite directions. Sarah and Anne almost collided. They fell into each other’s arms laughing. This was just what they needed after their heavy conversation a few hours ago. They gently pushed off each other, still laughing, and made their way to the other side and climbed back in.

  Tilly being the only other driver hopped up front and Chuck hitched himself to the copilot seat. Two cars were now behind them, the first with a group of young women who were in hysterics laughing at the elders running around the bus. The second car’s driver was honking and yelling out the window, “Come on! Move it! I haven’t got all day!” Just before Lucy climbed back into the bus, she turned to the two cars and blew them a kiss.

  Poncho, the last to climb in, also turned to the cars and tipped his cowboy hat and gave a slight bow before disappearing onto the bus. He flopped into the last empty seat. “Whew, that was almost as much fun as going eight seconds on a bull.”

  Despite Rose’s stern upper lip, watching them all run around the bus bumping into each other had her smiling. Lucy slid in beside her and yelled, “That, my friends, is how the fire drill works.”

  Chuck whistled, Mabel let out a loud hoot, and Anne and Sarah were laughing so hard they both began to snort, which led to more laughter.

  “You’re all crazy!” Rose yelled to be heard above the laughter. But with joy rippling through the bus, she found it hard to contain her smile.

  After they were back on the highway and had caught their breaths, Sarah piped up, “You know how you called us all crazy, Rose?”

  “Yeah, well, you all are.” Rose shook her head in defiance.

  Knowing she was about to take on the “dragon lady,” Sarah looked at Anne for moral support. Anne raised her eyebrows, impressed with her sister. Sarah took this as a sign of support and continued, “I was thinking that next time, if you joined us in the fire drill, then all eight of us would be crazy and we could call ourselves the Crazy Eights.”

  Before Rose had a chance to respond, Lucy let out a shriek, “That’s it! I’ve got it!” Lucy was belted in so she couldn’t stand to make her announcement. Instead, she raised her arms in the air and proclaimed, “We’re Tilly and the Crazy Eights.”

  16

  Lucy’s Excellent Adventure

  A HUSH FELL over the bus as they descended upon Las Vegas. The elders were all lost in their own thoughts as they stared out the windows. The lights glittered and shone and reflected so brightly it almost seemed that night turned to day the closer they got. As they pulled into the driveway of the hotel Lucy said, “Wow! This is a fancy shmancy hotel.”

  Tilly knew most of the elders weren’t used to staying in motels, let alone hotels like this. Suddenly, she felt uncomfortable and blurted out,“I got a really good deal on the Internet.”

  “Don’t matter none to me, Tilly, where you got the deal. I’m just so happy you takin’ such good care of all of us,” said Lucy.

  A couple of bellmen came to the bus pushing luggage carts. Mabel gave one of them the keys to the bus and all the elders followed her into the hotel. As they entered the lobby, they stopped and looked around. Poncho put his hand on the small of Rose’s back, causing her to turn to him with her eyes wide and her eyebrows peaked into her forehead. The sides of her mouth raised and he leaned over to kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear, “Quite a step up from our place on the ranch, eh, Rose?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Do you actually think they’re gonna let this Indian cowboy camp out here for the next few nights?” Although Rose knew his words were meant as a joke, she also knew they hinted at his insecurity in fitting into the white world.

  Rose leaned into her husband and put her head on his shoulder. “They better,” she said as she raised her fist, “or they’ll have the wrath of Rose to deal with.” They both laughed and Poncho kissed her temple. Her humor was the bridge he’d needed to feel comfortable in the hotel.

  As Bea walked into the lobby she became acutely aware of the runners on her feet, her track pants, and the T-shirt she was wearing
that had been through the wash at least a hundred times. Her eyes darted to Chuck. He always looked so put together and this time was no different. She was annoyed with herself. Tilly had told her they’d be staying at a fancy hotel on the strip, so why hadn’t she taken a moment that morning to choose her clothes more carefully? She hated feeling like an imposter in these kinds of settings, but she hated looking like an imposter even more.

  Chuck had been scanning the lobby when he noticed Bea. She stood with her weight resting on one leg and her arms folded over top of each other. He knew she wasn’t comfortable in fancy hotels, and, truth be told, he wasn’t either at first. But after years of staying in places like this for work, he’d come to enjoy the luxuries and comfort they provided. Chuck made his way over to Bea and stood beside her. He leaned down and out of the side of his mouth, softly said, “For what it’s worth, I think you look…”

  Bea raised her left eyebrow and pursed her lips as she looked up at him. Even after all these years, that look scared him. “Well,” he shifted his weight, lifted his shoulders and pushed his head forward, “what I meant is, you look okay.” The scowl on Bea’s face and the daggers coming out of her eyes made it clear his words had not helped. “Damn, Bea MacArthur. You make me so nervous I never say anything right around you. What I mean is, you look pretty. There, I said it. You’re pretty.” His voice filled with tenderness. “So, stop caring what anyone else in this damn hotel thinks about what you’re wearing or how you look.”

  I make him nervous? He thinks I’m pretty? Bea thought with surprise. Suddenly she no longer cared about people at the hotel. Chuck felt nervous around her and he’d just said she was pretty and in that moment, that was all Bea cared about.